


heartlines on a red string

by flyingcrowbar



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Body Swap, F/M, Inspired by Kimi no Na wa. | Your Name., Red String of Fate, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:40:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24593917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyingcrowbar/pseuds/flyingcrowbar
Summary: A boy from New York City and a girl from an art school swap bodies every time they wake up.
Relationships: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson
Comments: 47
Kudos: 231





	1. i thought i dreamed you

Percy summoned up the nerve, uncapped the marker, and scrawled on his palm: _Who are you?_

The ink dried quickly on his hand, a hand he didn’t know, a hand belonging to a person whose fingers were long and slender and whose nails had been chewed to shreds, cuticles still caked with dark brown blood after a nail tore it open. He closed his fingers, _her_ fingers, tightly against his message. This hand was designed for a precise art, like drawing or playing piano, a hand belonging to someone who creates - someone decidedly _not_ him. 

He was Percy Jackson, a normal seventeen year old boy from Manhattan, but this wasn’t the first time he had inhabited this stranger’s body. This was the third. 

The first time, he had thought it was a dream. 

He should have known something was off before he even opened his eyes. The mattress was a dead giveaway - it was all wrong, stiff and unforgiving, unlike the one he collapsed into every night after a late shift at his mom’s bakery. The springs squeaked beneath him when he rolled over. Next, he should have noticed the long lock of hair in his mouth. He sputtered and brushed it away, still inhabiting that beige, in-between moment of wakefulness and sleep, without totally realizing that his hair was short when he went to bed last night. Then, he should have smelled the delightfully lemon-y scent of the pillow beneath his cheek. His preferred shampoo was a no-nonsense three-in-one body, face and hair wash that was named after and smelled like a lumberjack. 

All of these details together weren’t enough to fire off warning signals in his brain, instead it was just enough to get him to open his eyes. 

Outside the lone window by his bed sat a gray sky, spitting tiny droplets. It wasn’t quite raining, yet. The water collected and built up on the glass, barely enough to run down the pane in long streaks. _Huh,_ he thought, _There used to be a building outside my window._

Still, that wasn’t enough to concern him. He rose from the blankets and rubbed the gunk from eyes then wiped the cool, slimy drool off his cheek. 

The only thing that had settled in the front of his mind was the weird dream he had just had. 

What was it about? He tried to remember, but it slipped away from him the more he tried to recall it, like trying to catch smoke. He snatched at bits and pieces: The sensation of being yanked in another direction, like on the Coney Tower ride at Luna Park. The sound of a wind chime. And a thin, red string snapping in the wind. But then he couldn’t remember. The details dissolved. And with that, he couldn’t remember why he needed to remember. 

Unburdened, he stretched his arms high over his head and let his back go with a satisfying _crack_. Sleep still dragged him down, even when he threw his legs over the side of the bed and tripped over a pair of fuzzy blue slippers and walked barefoot across the cold tile floor. Also in the room, he noted another bed with another body beneath a mountain of blankets. The person groaned, rolled over and used the comforter to hide from the morning. 

This should have been a huge clue because Percy Jackson was 1) an only child 2) meaning he had his own bedroom but 3) unless he had sleepwalked into someone else’s apartment, he had no reason to believe he would wake up anywhere else. It went against every law of the universe to think that maybe, just this once in his normal life, something was abnormal. 

His body, like his mind, still wasn’t fully awake and he fell into a desk chair at the foot of the bed. It spun him around lazily as he roused a little and took in his surroundings. Where were all his posters? His jeans he had left on the floor last night? That slice of pizza on his nightstand he’d been meaning to throw out all week? 

It still wasn’t clicking. The synapses in his brain were warming up though.

The desk before him was a mess littered with crumpled up blueprint sketches, a burned out candle, tangled headphones, keys on a frog keychain, spare change, a dark laptop with crumbs from an unfinished granola bar on the keyboard. He pushed through the trash and picked up a phone. It definitely wasn’t his phone, or Grover’s who had been over for dinner a few days ago. This didn’t have any cracks in the screen, plus it seemed new. 

When he looked at the screen, the facial recognition somehow unlocked and showed him texts that had come in during the night:

**Rachel**

Girl, you left the candle going. You’re so lucky I was here to save us all. 

**Parental Unit**

Can’t make it tonight. Sorry. Next time. 

**Reminder:**

Project due next Friday!

Percy didn’t know anyone named Rachel. And his mom, the only so-called ‘parental unit' in his life, was listed as Ma in his contacts so whoever's phone this was must be missing it.

Then he looked up from the screen, confusion putting everything on pause. The rain had picked up by then, tapping with increasing frequency, as if someone was trying to get his attention. And reality came crashing together. His thoughts skipped like a broken record, catching up. 

_This is not my bed._

_This is not my room._

_This is not my phone._

The reflection in the darkened screen of the laptop made him jump. Staring back at him, wearing his expression of pure, unfiltered shock was a stranger with thick and curly blond hair, untamed and spider-like in a messy bun, and gray eyes as wide as dinner plates. He recoiled with a yelp, startled, and then let out a different kind of yelp as he grasped the edges of the laptop screen in horror and disbelief. 

By then, the other person in the room had woken up from the noise. 

A pillow launched in his general direction missed by a mile. “Ugh, shut up!” The thrower, at first nothing but a cloud of red hair, had finally emerged from her blankets. “What are you doing?” 

“I’m - my face…”

“Yes,” the red-head said, squinting in the morning light. “You have a face. Congratulations. Do you have any idea what time it is?” 

“N-No.” 

“Too early for this shit. Well, guess I’m up now.” The girl slithered out of bed and padded to a door at the far end of the room, a door that Percy realized led to a bathroom. 

He turned back to the darkened screen, searching for any kind of rational explanation to what he was seeing. He didn’t recognize the face staring back at him. He screwed up his eyes and counted to five, then he peeked one eye open, only to find the person in the reflection mimicking his every move. His heart was in his throat and panic rooted deep into his lungs. 

_This must be a dream,_ he thought. _This_ **_has_ ** _to be a dream. I’m going to wake up in my own bed, in my own room, in my own body, and this will all be one funny story to tell Grover tomorrow._ The belief that it was a dream, no - a _nightmare_ \- was the only thing that kept him from passing out, but it was the only thing that made sense. How else could this have happened? 

He had never been able to lucid dream before, so this must be what it feels like. He pinched his cheeks and then slapped himself which stung a lot and he regretted it that instant. That felt too real. He massaged the hurt out of his face with the back of his hand. 

This had to be a dream. It had to be. What other option did he have? 

So, he reasoned, if this isn’t real, if this is a dream, what would dream-Percy do? Well, if he couldn’t fly, and he couldn’t teleport himself to his usual nightmare of middle school math class, he opted to go with the flow and see where this dream would take him. He took a deep, shaky breath to calm himself. 

The redhead girl finally emerged from the bathroom, looking far more awake now. She was petit and wearing sweatpants and a Blue Lake Fine Arts Camp t-shirt as pajamas. “Okay, I’m sorry for throwing a pillow. It’s just - do you know how late I went to bed last night? Three! I was up at the studio ‘til nearly one-thirty, working on my project - you know, the one for the exhibit - and what do you know, I come home to find you passed out with the candle still burning, melted wax everywhere. So not only do I have to put the fire out and put you to bed safely, but I have to wash off all this paint - which always gets _everywhere_ , mind you, because I just _had_ to choose to do a ceiling piece - and then I needed to meditate before I could finally get some sleep, no thanks to Michael Yew who decided that his studio time was more important than mine and stayed a whole hour past his slotted reservation -” She sighed and added, “While I can see that it's very on-brand of you to work so hard you fall asleep at your desk, accidental arson is super not fun.”

Percy stammered out a response. “You’re Rachel!”

Rachel stared at him like he’d just spoken Klingon. “Yuh-huh. Hey, are you okay? Did you get into my stash last night? I mean, I get it, it takes the edge off, you could just ask next time…”

Percy nearly choked on his own spit. “What! No!” 

Rachel held a scrutinizing gaze and scanned him up and down. “You look weird.” 

He, too, looked himself over, at an oversized Waterland t-shirt and bike shorts, at shaved and tan bare legs, at lime green-painted toenails. He had a feeling that wasn’t what she was talking about. Even though Percy felt weird, as weird as could be, he lied as he adjusted the sports bra that was digging uncomfortably into his shoulder: “Just… a weird dream is all.” _A vivid, hyper-weird dream._

Rachel pursed her lips like she was sucking on a sour candy and squinted at him. “Sure.” But, without pressing further, she shook her head and walked to one of two wardrobes standing at the opposite wall. “Let’s get dressed and head to breakfast early. I could use the extra time before homeroom to finish my highlight work.” 

Percy hesitantly approached the wardrobe and when he opened it, he found a complete school uniform hanging on the back of the door: a white button-up blouse with a burgundy sweater vest, a black skirt, and - draped over the hanger shoulder - a striped black and burgundy tie. 

With a twist in his gut, he realized that he would need to remove his current outfit to put the uniform on. He knew, if it really was a dream - _which it HAD TO BE_ \- he shouldn’t care. It wasn’t real so what was the big deal? But somewhere, in the back of his mind, he thought that it would be a step too far in a perverted direction to ogle at a body that wasn’t his. He opted to keep the sports bra on and the bike shorts too, which, after thinking about it, he was grateful for because the skirt was modest but way too short for his comfort level. 

In a daze, he put the rest of the uniform on but struggled with the tie. He gave up when Rachel yelled at him to get a move on, or else she would have to fistfight Michael Yew for studio space again, and he barely made it out of the room in time, kicking on his loafers as he went. 

“You’re not taking your books? Your laptop?” Rachel asked but he didn’t have time to answer before she was talking again. “Question,” she said, “have you forgotten how ties work? Because, my _goddess_ , you are all aboard the struggle bus this morning. And your hair! Going for the mad scientist look, I see. Or is it mad architect? Is that even a thing? You can make it your thing, your signature style when you’re famous, like Iris Apfel and those big round glasses of hers, or Salvador Dali and that glorious mustache.” She said mustache like _moo-stash_. 

Percy had no idea who or what Rachel was talking about. Before he could ask, she was onto the next topic. Did she even breathe? 

As a matter of fact, no, Percy had never tied a tie before in his life. The few and far between occasions when he had to wear one they were all clip ons or his mom tied it for him. And as for the hair, well, he’d never had long hair before, nor was it this thick or curly, and he didn’t know what else to do with it other than keep it in the bun he’d found it in.

Rachel didn’t seem too suspicious of his state of dress because she changed subjects and went on continuing conversations they must have had days ago, referencing facts and events that must have happened, and Percy played along, making noises of agreement every now and then. He was too busy taking in his surroundings to pay much attention to what she was saying anyway.

He had come to realize that he was in a boarding school, a fancy one at that. It was a long way off from the grimy halls of Westside High that was for sure. Instead of rows of metal lockers, the walls were lined with real mahogany. Decorating them were wall sconces that looked like blooming flowers and oil paintings of serious-looking old people stared at him as he passed. The air was thick, and smelled like an old library, like decaying paper. 

When they took the carpeted stairs down a few floors, Percy saw more signs of life. Students, girls and boys his age, all wearing matching uniforms were starting their day too. But even more unlike Westside High, these students were rich. He could practically smell it on them. A flash of real diamonds in a pair of earrings here, checking the time on a Rolex there. He could only dream of having that much expendable cash some day. Even though the uniform was supposed to be an equalizer, Percy knew that if he wore the exact same outfit, he would stick out like a dump truck at a car show. But, he remembered, he _was_ wearing the exact same clothes. But he wasn’t himself. So then who was he then if he wasn’t himself? He didn’t want to think about it too much more. It was giving him a headache. 

_Where the hell am I?_ Percy thought, as he peered into a classroom to see a giant marble statue in the process of being chiseled by hand. But Rachel, who was obviously used to all of this, didn’t even pause so he had to hustle to catch back up to her pace.

But she stopped suddenly and he smacked right into her outstretched arm. 

“Oh,” she growled through gritted teeth, “no, you _don’t_.” She was glaring at a guy who had just entered a studio with a smirk and saluted to Rachel before disappearing inside. If Percy could make a wild guess, he figured that was the aforementioned nemesis Michael Yew. 

“Forget breakfast,” Rachel said. “I’ve got a grudge to settle. Think you can manage without me?” she asked Percy. 

“Uh, sure.” Percy glanced up and down the corridor. “Where… where am I going?” he asked. 

Rachel’s brows furrowed. “Are you sure you’re okay? Do you need the doctor?”

“Just lost track of the days I guess.”

She answered like she was asking a question. “You’re going to homeroom? Principles of Design? Room 111?”

“Okay, yeah.” Percy pretended to know what was going on. Business as usual. 

He and Rachel parted ways and he walked down to a T-intersection in the hallway then took a right. 

Rachel’s voice carried after him. “Left!”

Percy turned on his heel and walked in the opposite direction, waving to Rachel bashfully as he went. 

That first day was a mess. Through osmosis, he found out that he was at a school called Olympia Academy of Fine Arts. If he had to guess, it was somewhere in New England, but he wasn't ready to ask. Classmates tried talking to him but he shrugged his way through conversations and hoped they would leave him alone, which they eventually did while giving him stink faces. The whole day he expected to wake up from the dream, cozy in his own bed, but with each passing minute, getting yelled at by teachers when he forgot to bring pencils, or sitting in the wrong assigned seat, or having to ask a hall monitor what class he was supposed to be in next, he realized the dream was only going to end when it wanted to end. 

When he managed to find his way back to the dorm, after wandering aimlessly in the halls for what felt like an hour, did he feel like he needed to see a psychiatrist or talk to a professional about this. Was it normal for a dream to feel _this_ real? Besides waking up in the wrong body, everything else seemed normal. Gravity worked like usual, everybody spoke in English and not a dream-like gibberish, but the weirdest part was that he didn’t recognize anyone. Usually in dreams, he’d encounter people from his real life - like the guy that ran the bodega at the end of the block; or Mrs. Dodds, his elementary school teacher from hell; or even Grover for that matter. But everyone around him were complete strangers. 

Who was he kidding? He didn’t have money to see a doctor, let alone a psychiatrist. The best he could do was pray that all of this would go away. 

He went to bed after that long, grueling day, hoping that maybe by going to bed in the dream, he would wake up in the real world, and it would all be over. 

And he was right. 

He did, in fact, wake up in his own bed the following morning. 

It was Saturday. Regardless of it being the weekend or not, Percy couldn’t have been more excited to have his body back. He leaped out of bed and met his mom in the kitchen and gave her the biggest hug he could muster. She laughed and told him to sit before the eggs got cold and they had breakfast before heading to her bakery together. It was a small shop called Baby Blue Bakes, barely big enough to fit a display case, situated about five blocks from their apartment in Manhattan. The charm and allure of the bakery wasn’t its prime basement location or the homey grandmother-like decor made mostly of thrift store finds, but Sally’s baking which was what put her name on the map. 

Percy helped out whenever he could like shaping sourdough boules, cleaning ovens, and taking phone orders. It was hard work, and Percy admired his mother for taking on such a monumental task of owning and operating her own small business. She never talked numbers with him, but he knew that it was a constant struggle, so he tried his best to lighten her load at any opportunity. 

Saturday mornings were for deliveries and pretty soon working up a sweat by carrying in a truckload of fifty pound bags of flour erased any worry he had about the dream he had last night. But that relief was short lived because his mom said something to him that made his heart freeze over. 

“Are you feeling better today, bud?” she asked.

Percy nearly dropped the hundredth bag of flour he was carrying. “Uh, why do you ask?” 

“Nothing really. Just acting… off.”

Percy felt like his head had been dunked under water. He was missing an entire day of his life. “What exactly did I do?”

“Nothing, honest!” Sally said, twirling her wrist casually. “You weren’t entirely yourself, that’s all.”

Percy wasn’t able to ask follow-up questions because a businessman with a bluetooth permanently attached to his ear came in demanding to know where his order of two dozen cupcakes were and why they weren't in his hand _right now_. Sally put on her best customer service voice and handled it like the true professional she was. Percy leaned on the stack of flour, otherwise he felt like he might fall over. 

He took his phone out of his back pocket and texted Grover:

**Hey, dude. Was I being weird yesterday?**

He didn’t have to wait long to see Grover’s reply:

**More or less than usual?**

**Ha.**

**Alright, yeah, you were being weird.  
You didn’t know where you were  
sometimes. But you said you were tired.  
Everything ok?**

Percy quickly texted back: **Yeah, I was sick and had a fever. Sorry if I said or did anything weird** before pocketing his phone again. 

The rest of the day was packed full of business, Percy barely had time to think let alone take a break. The more he thought about it, the more being sick made sense. Maybe he really did have a fever and it was literally a fever dream. Those were supposed to be really crazy and vivid, right? He was satisfied with that explanation and by the time he got home, he was too tired so he skipped dinner and collapsed straight into bed. 

He woke up the next morning in the stranger’s body again, and it was then that he knew, instantaneously, that something was extraordinarily wrong. He stamped the shock down as best he could, though the reality of his situation being what it was, his mood quickly turned into panic. 

_How was it possible?_

He tried going back to sleep, but his hammering heart refused to let him relax enough and he gave up, so then he tried calling his own cell phone number but the automated operator’s voice told him that the number was “ _unavailable_ ” and to “ _try again later_.” He cursed loudly. 

The outside world was bright and inviting. Birds chirped in the oak tree near the window, bright white clouds passed through a vibrant blue sky, laughter floated from the hallway through the closed door. 

Percy sat at the stranger’s desk, staring at a world that felt untouchable. When he was little, his mom used to read him fairy tales about kids falling into other worlds, worlds that felt real, but if you didn’t pay attention to the clues you’d be trapped there forever by monsters that looked like people. It didn’t scare him then; he knew it was make believe. But now, he wondered why he _shouldn’t_ be terrified. 

Just like in his real life, a day had passed since the last time he was in this world. The desk was a little different than the last time he’d seen it: there were less papers strewn about, the candle and granola bar had disappeared, and now there was a black moleskine notebook he’d never seen before sitting in a corner. 

He opened the notebook and flipped through the pages. It was filled with sketches in pencil and pen. He feared anyone who sketched in pen. There were delicately detailed landscapes, and a building he recognized as the boarding school, and imagined city skylines, and occasionally a figure or two. He recognized one as a self portrait. It looked rushed, like she was struck by inspiration. There was a similar urgency in his own handwriting when he was in the midst of the written portion of exams at school - if it wasn’t on the page now, it would be gone forever. He looked at those eyes and those eyes looked back. 

He flipped to an empty page and, with a nearby pen, he wrote in large letters:

_Is this real?_

Then he snapped the book shut and slid it further onto the desk.

He wasn’t sure why he had written that. He felt that perhaps by writing it down, it would prove something. Prove what, he wasn’t sure. 

The third time he woke up in the stranger’s bed, he had an answer. The moment his eyes opened, he flung the blanket from his body and rushed to the desk. There, open on the page of his question, was the journal. Her handwriting was just as rushed and hurried as her sketches and her lettering was in all capital letters, but it didn’t look like she was yelling. It was just her style. 

_I THOUGHT I DREAMED YOU_

And below her answer, she had sketched his face, complete with his dad’s dark messy hair, and his mom’s straight nose. It wasn’t perfect, as if she had done it from memory the moment she had woken up, but he recognized himself instantly. 

His knees gave out and he fell into the desk chair, staring at her response. Rachel came out of the bathroom already dressed in her uniform to find him like that. 

“Ready for school, weirdo?” she asked. 

Percy respectfully closed his eyes as he got dressed and ready for another day. It was the third time he was to spend in the stranger’s life. Everything still felt surreal, but he was beginning to understand. They were switching places. How? Why? Those questions were still too big to ask. He was barely able to comprehend the new facts before him. _One thing at a time_ , he told himself. 

He packed her bag full of everything she might need for class and followed her schedule. He had to make it through today and then he could go home. 

It was then, in Principles of Design, that he wrote on the palm of his hand asking for her name. He didn’t know how or why this was happening, but he could at least know who it was happening with. On the morning of Switch 4, that was what he decided to call it, he found his answer in the same place he had asked it. 

“Annabeth,” he whispered as he stared at his palm. “Nice to meet you.” 


	2. old rain on a new day

_“Percy! Wake up!”_

* * *

The L train screamed by and Annabeth watched it go. It buffeted the wind around her, kicking up trash and the pungent scent of day-old piss in its wake. A Brass House band performed for the hundreds of commuters shuffling their way down the platform and up the stairs to 14th Street. This dream was too real. 

Panic tightened every muscle in her body as she struggled to remember the events of last night. She recalled staying up late working on a project for her mechanical drawing class after she had been stood up by her father, _again_ , and to relax and focus, she got into Rachel’s stash and smoked a little bit before… The rest came up blank. Was she having some kind of mental episode from the weed? Was this even a thing that could happen? She wasn’t experienced by any measure with drugs, and did weed count these days as a drug anyway? Obviously in New York it still did. But last night she didn’t go to bed in New York - _fucking -_ City.

She’d never even been to the city before. She had dreamed of it happening one day, of course. It was home to some of the most glorious architecture in the world. But this was not the literal _dream trip_ she had had in mind. 

When she’d woken up that morning, Annabeth’s eyes snapped open to the sound of a woman’s voice. All memory of the dream she’d been having went out, like a candle in the wind. Still, some details lingered, like smoke, but the moment she sat up, it was gone except for a lingering feeling, like she had just been holding on to something and now it wasn’t there. Whatever _it_ was, it left her hand feeling cold and empty. 

It took all of two seconds for her to take in her surroundings and realize she was not in her own bed. As if it was on fire, she leaped out and stood in the middle of the room, fists raised for a fight. 

_Where am I?_

Shock made everything snap into focus. The walls were painted a deep, dark blue; a skateboard hung on a rack on the wall; clothes lay piled on a desk chair. 

Pots and pans clattered outside the closed bedroom door and she could barely make out the gentle murmuring of an NPR morning radio show. The woman’s voice that had woken her up called out again, more sternly this time: “Percy! You’re going to be late!”

Percy? That name meant nothing to her. 

Annabeth scratched her head only to find that her hair, usually coarse and thick, felt smooth and short. Her stomach lurched when she looked down and saw that she was standing there, bare chested, and only in boxers. A full-length mirror hanging on the back of the door caught her eye. At first, she thought it was a window but she froze when she realized what she was seeing. 

His eyes were green, his hair dark as an oil slick, his shoulders broad. She was looking at him through his eyes. 

“ _Percy_!” the voice was louder, no nonsense. “I hear you moving in there! You’ll miss your train!”

She looked around for any clues. As far as she could tell, there was only one door in or out of the bedroom. A window at the far wall opened to an iron fire escape. Instinct told her that she could sneak out that way and into the dim dawn and get home, but another more rational part of herself stopped her from doing it. She was dreaming, after all. There was no need to panic. Not yet, at least.

Annabeth tentatively touched the doorknob, like she expected it to be electrified, then she slid out into what she discovered to be a small apartment. She kept her back pressed against the wall, circling around the perimeter, waiting for one of her regular nightmare spider monsters to leap out at any second. 

“What are you doing?” A woman in her forties stood in the kitchen holding a steaming pot of oatmeal in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other. She had wavy brown hair going gray at the temples pulled gently over one shoulder and kind eyes, though her brows had gathered in confusion. Annabeth had seen similarities in the mirror earlier. 

Annabeth cleared her throat. Her new voice was so much deeper than she expected. “I’m…” But she was at a loss. What _was_ she doing? As far as she was could see, this apartment wasn’t some kind of labyrinth with monsters waiting around every corner. She felt foolish now. 

The woman tipped her chin towards the bedroom. “Go get dressed. I’ll pour you breakfast.”

Annabeth did as she was told by pulling on a blue zip-up hoodie she found on the desk chair and a pair of jeans and when she came back out to the kitchen area, the woman had set up a bowl of oatmeal topped with fresh blueberries at the breakfast bar. She had just finished pouring a glass of orange juice which she slid into place when Annabeth sat down, still vaguely on guard.

The woman, whom Annabeth surmised was the boy in the mirror’s mother, regarded her carefully over a “World’s Okayest Mom” mug. 

“You don’t look well,” the woman said. “Are you sick?” 

She reached out the back of her hand and touched Annabeth’s forehead. Annabeth fought the urge to duck out of the way. But when the woman’s hand made contact, she relaxed. She couldn’t remember the last time her father checked her temperature. 

Annabeth said, “I’m still waking up, I think.” 

She hummed and pushed her fingers through Annabeth’s - no, _Percy’s_ \- hair, lovingly. “Want some coffee?”

Annabeth, a notorious coffee hound at school, eagerly said yes - hoping that it would snap her out of this dream - and Percy’s mom poured her a fresh mug from a French press and slid it to her like an old-timey saloon bartender. 

Annabeth nearly swooned over the roast - perfectly balanced, sort of fruity, and a hint of cocoa. As far as she was concerned, it was the flavor of the gods. She took in a deep whiff before she drank. 

“Interesting. You hate coffee,” Percy’s mother said with a sly smile. 

Annabeth froze mid-sip. 

“As I recall,” she continued, “your exact words were: ‘it tastes like hot bean bath’.” 

How was Annabeth supposed to react? Was this some sort of trick? Would the dream change into a nightmare if she failed to answer correctly? She figured she’d play it safe. “Maybe I’m trying new things.” 

“Maybe,” the woman said, still smiling. She turned her wrist and looked at her watch. “Alright, kiddo. Eat up. I’ve gotta run before you. Big order today. Which reminds me, could you stop by the bakery after school and run the register while I make the deliveries? Or are you planning on getting detention again?” She said that last part with a withering look. 

Annabeth blushed immediately though she didn’t know why. “I promise, I’ll be good,” she said. And, strangely, she meant it. 

“That’s my boy.” 

“Yeah, um, have a good day.”

“Love you!” Percy’s mom planted a kiss on the top of Annabeth’s head and whisked out the door with a raincoat and purse. 

After an admittedly delicious breakfast, Annabeth had half a mind to explore this new dream world, but she remembered her promise to Percy’s mom. She felt compelled to see it through to the end. So, thanks to some rudimentary detective work, Annabeth figured out that Percy attended a place called Westside High courtesy of a school ID card and a charmingly awkward ID photo. A raggedy backpack was already packed with books and papers, so she zipped it closed, laced up a pair of worn Chucks, and headed out. 

It was then, when she stepped out of the apartment building and into the street, did she realize she was in New York City. The high rise apartments towered over her, turning the skyline into a blocky silhouette against the gray sky. Cars bustled noisily down the street, honking and sputtering fumes. She tried to look up the directions to school on the phone but she didn’t know the passcode, so the phone remained frustratingly locked. And she felt like a real goob when she asked a pretzel vendor where Westside High was and he told her to “gedouttaheeya” and he waved her off like she was an annoying fly. Fortunately, a kind soul walking five dogs of all shapes and sizes pointed her in the direction of the subway. 

The sky was threatening to rain. She could smell it. She didn’t think to bring an umbrella. Since when do you need an umbrella in your dreams? Right before the sky opened up, she made it.

It was there that she found herself, paralyzed on the train platform, watching as dozens of trains flew by, trying to work up the nerve to step on board. New York City was gigantic, and terrifying, and she had no idea what she was doing. 

“Earth to Percy!” 

A hand waved in front of her eyes, snapping her back to the present. Standing next to her was a boy her age with a slouchy beanie covering curly brown hair. She recognized him instantly. He was the lockscreen on Percy’s phone, a selfie of him and Percy making silly faces at the camera. He wore a faded Steppenwolf t-shirt and a flannel over that. Slung over his shoulders was a backpack with iron-on patches that said, “Hug a tree. Punch a Nazi.” and “Sasquatch Squad.” She didn’t mean to stare, but she noticed he was using crutches too. 

“I was calling your name forever. Didn’t you hear me?” he asked. 

She forgot that she needed to respond to Percy. She laughed awkwardly and shook her head. “Sorry. I was thinking about something.”

“Don’t pull a muscle. What took you so long? I was waiting forever.”

At least that was a relief - she could follow him to school. That only left trying to figure out this person’s name. Obviously he and Percy were close. She couldn’t think of a way to ask him naturally though. How would one of her friends react if she suddenly forgot their name? 

She was saved from making an excuse when another train pulled up and they boarded with the rest of the commuters. It was a tight fit, rush hour. Annabeth’s face was firmly wedged in a businessman’s armpit as the train jolted forward. Oddly enough, the car was quiet. People were either dozing in one of the packed seats, or had their headphones in while listening to music, or reading a book with one hand keeping it open and the other stabilizing for balance on the handrails. New York City, romanticized to hell and back, seemed exhausting… and Annabeth loved every minute of it.

She’d never been on a subway before. She was tempted to skip school and wander the streets for a while, maybe even duck inside a museum or two if this dream would let her. When else would she have the chance to visit, even if it ended up being all in her head? But she couldn't. Not after the promise she'd made. Besides, a part of her was a little curious to see what the dream had in store for her. 

When she and Percy’s friend finally squeezed their way out at their stop, Annabeth followed him up the escalator to find the rain had stopped and together they walked down the street toward a brown brick three-story high school: Westside. It looked like it had seen a couple of generations of feet pass through its halls. 

Thankfully, she and Percy’s friend had all their classes together, either that or he didn’t complain when she followed him every period. But she didn’t pay too much attention in class. She busied herself flipping through Percy’s notebooks, curiosity getting the best of her. There weren’t a ton of notes, but there were a lot of doodles and stick figures in the margins. 

A few too many times she didn’t reply when her name was called during attendance, or when she was the unlucky soul called to answer a question. The first time it happened, it brought a wave of giggles as she rose too quickly and knocked the desk with her knees. The second time it happened, Percy’s friend looked at her in confusion and mouthed: _What is wrong with you?_

Clearly she was doing a terrible job at being Percy. 

In the hall after class, Percy’s friend asked, “Did you forget your lucky charm today?” and pointed to her bare wrist. 

Lucky charm? She wasn’t sure what he was talking about but she laughed lightly and said, “I forgot to put it on, I guess.” 

* * *

Percy’s mom brightened up the moment Annabeth and Percy’s friend stepped through the bakery door, the chime ringing overhead. 

“Grover!” she called. She was stunning when she smiled. “Kept Percy out of trouble, I see. How are you, sweetie?”

“Better now that I'm near your cupcakes, Sally,” Grover said with a grin. 

“I’ve got a couple extras in the back. Vegan and gluten free. I had a feeling you’d be showing up,” she said and winked. 

Grover practically left a cartoon dust trail behind him, he moved so quickly to the back room. After school, Annabeth had had a dilemma. She had no idea where Percy’s mom’s bakery was. In a moment of genius, she casually brought up to Grover the fact that she needed to work the register after school and that they could do homework during down times. Grover jumped at the opportunity to go with her. Without knowing it, he was her guide all the way to the Lower East Side. 

Sally looked tired. Her apron was covered in chocolate ganache and her dark hair was coming out of her ponytail. 

“How can I help?” Annabeth asked. She’d never worked in a bakery before, but how hard could it be? 

Hubris had always been her blindspot. 

While Sally rode her bicycle to drop off various cakes, breads, and cookies to order, Annabeth swung a broom at a couple of rats trying to get into the flour supply, scrubbed a literal ton of pots and pans, and crawled under the broken oven to get it firing again, all while dealing with customers coming in and out demanding to try Sally’s menu. 

She slumped over the register, exhausted, as the last customer left. She very much wanted to wake up from the dream now. After this, it’d be a miracle if she woke up without being sore. 

Grover, who had stayed well beyond what she expected him to, was busy typing away on his laptop at one of the tables at the window. Annabeth collapsed into the seat opposite him. 

Grover looked over Annabeth’s head and a small smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Stay cool,” he said, “incoming, six o’clock.” 

Annabeth was about to ask what he was talking about just as the door chimed open. 

“Hey, Calypso,” Grover sang, and gave a little wave.

Calypso, a girl around their age, was one of the most beautiful people Annabeth had ever seen. She had hair like caramel braided over one shoulder, and a button nose, and wore a flowing white sundress. 

“Hey, Grover,” she said, smiling, then her eyes landed on Annabeth. “Hey, Percy.”

It was obvious. This girl had a crush on Percy. She blushed the second her eyes fell on him, on Annabeth. 

Annabeth stood up. “Can I get you anything?”

“Yeah, a baker’s dozen of your mom’s chocolate chip cookies, please.” 

Annabeth went behind the counter got the order ready and bagged it neatly. 

“You look like you’ve been working up a sweat. Tough day?” Calypso asked. 

It was true, Annabeth had. Percy’s life was hard work. “You have no idea.”

“I bet. But it’s nice to see you. It’s been a while.” 

Annabeth’s gaze flicked over Calypso’s shoulder to see Grover flashing two big thumbs up. She ignored him. “It’s nice to see you too.” 

Calypso’s eyes sparkled. 

Annabeth handed her the bag of cookies and rang up the charge. Calypso paid in cash, told Annabeth to keep the change, and waved goodbye as she left. 

After she closed the register, Annabeth watched Calypso move past the window then looked both ways before crossing the street. She glanced back over her shoulder and smiled when she saw Annabeth looking. 

“He shoots, he scores,” Grover howled, and cupped his hands around his mouth, making sounds like a cheering crowd. “I’m telling you, dude. Ask her out. It’s been _months_. Just do it already! She’ll definitely say yes.” 

It was obvious that Percy and Calypso had some sort of history. Annabeth wasn’t sure yet what it meant. Did Percy like her back?

Hours later, after locking up the shop, Annabeth and Percy’s mom went home together. The second she made it to Percy’s room, she fell face-first into his bed, dead tired. Even her bones ached. 

The moment her eyes closed, she woke up in her own bed, in her own body. She patted her face and relief flooded through her as she filed that under one of the weirder dreams she’d ever had. Though, oddly enough, a part of her mourned the loss of the dream. Percy’s life seemed all too real. It wasn’t every day Annabeth got to take a break from being herself. 

Sometimes, she was sick and tired of being Annabeth. Her father, a tenured professor at West Point, expected utmost perfection in her studies. Anything less than a 4.0 grade-point average was a failure, even as a child. He raised her like the soldier. If she was home sick from school, he made sure that she did all her homework and then some, just to make sure she never fell behind. And mental health days were out of the question. Even into her boarding school years, her father’s presence loomed over her if she even had a thought to take a break. His attitude about life was that a person can always go a step more, a step farther. 

And what was it all for? Her father hardly made time for her anyway. Why should she care what he thought? Maybe a bolder person would put their foot down and say enough was enough. She was still a kid, she deserved to live a little. She knew it didn’t work like that though. She was her father’s daughter. She couldn’t help it. She used to fantasize about running away, the kind of little kid fantasy where money wasn’t an option and she could go anywhere and be anything she wanted to be. 

Living this Percy guy’s life, she felt like she could breathe for a second. But the moment she was back in her own body, it was back to business. Back to the same leather-bound notebooks chock full of scribbled ideas for her portfolio, back to the sleepless nights fueled purely on coffee and guilt, and back to the panic attacks. 

It took her father a long time to come to terms with the idea that she had a panic disorder. He thought of it as a sign of weakness, that she was slipping, which didn’t help. He was of the generation that didn’t talk about ‘those kinds of things’ like it was contagious. At times, she felt like she had to prove herself twice as hard to show that she wasn’t weak. 

She remembered a particularly bad episode when she sat at the window - the tears still drying on her cheeks - and seeing a shooting star cut across the night sky, and wishing that in her next life - if such a thing existed - that she could be reborn in totally a different life. But it was a silly wish. And she felt silly the moment she wished for it. 

The rest of the day passed as usual. She had breakfast with Rachel, went to class, studied for a few hours and forgot to eat dinner as usual, then went to bed.

She never expected to wake up in Percy’s body again the next morning. The realization dawned on her that something supernatural was happening. She braced herself at Percy’s bedroom mirror, staring into his green eyes, searching for an explanation. None came. 

Sally served up breakfast again and asked what she planned to do that day. It was Sunday, a day off, but Annabeth was still too much in shock to give a good reply. She ate mostly in silence, barely registering anything at all, trying to figure out if she should panic yet or not. It seemed like an awfully good time to start panicking. 

But Grover called Percy’s phone and Annabeth answered. He and some other friends from school wanted to head to Central Park and that Percy - or rather, Annabeth - should come. It proved to be a good distraction. Grover, a guy named Beckendorf, and a girl named Clarisse, met Annabeth at an ice cream cart where they all bought some cones and headed to the lake. Once there, they claimed a spot on the grass and ate their ice cream and, as Clarisse put it, “shoot-eth the shit-eth” as they joked around and enjoyed the sun. 

Annabeth laid flat on her back, settling into the prickly green grass, and stared up at the fluffy white clouds as they passed overhead while Grover and his friends laughed over some inside joke. Annabeth still wasn’t convinced she wasn’t dreaming. 

But she woke up that following morning to find Percy’s handwriting in the pages of her notebook:

**_Is this real?_ **

She scrawled her reply and, in a flash of inspiration, she started sketching the face she had seen in the mirror. She went so quickly - outlining the sharp edge of his jaw, the straightness of his dark brows, the blithe swoop of his hair - she needed to get it on the page right then or else she feared she might forget what he looked like. When she finished, she leaned away from her work for a moment and the smallest smile slipped onto her face.

_Nice to meet you, Percy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this when I should have been writing my new book. Y'all are bad influences.

**Author's Note:**

> Here I thought I was out and then Disney drags me back in.


End file.
